


Liquid Wisdom

by recrudescence



Category: Firefly
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 20:45:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recrudescence/pseuds/recrudescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon can't catch a break. No one seems particularly interested in helping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liquid Wisdom

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written with Nakeno. Title swiped from the anonymous quote "Tea is liquid wisdom."

Nothing quite like turning around and bumping noses with an owl-eyed girl when you least expect it. Like, say, when you're half naked and your face is covered in shaving cream and when you jerk back you're in very real danger of slitting your throat.

At least as long as River's clunking around in those godforsaken boots, it's relatively easy to know where she is. Most of the time. Easier than strapping a cowbell on her, anyway, which Mal has thought about more than once.

"I, ah, I don't know what's gotten into her," Simon goes muttering lamely when River announces in front of everyone that the captain sleeps on his left side and sometimes doesn't wear pants to bed.

"…what? So don't a lot of people." Just proceed to shove dinner in his mouth. The constantly moving, if recycled, air of a ship is one thing, but when you're growing up and even at night it's in the nineties and humid, it's a habit you don't break lightly. After chewing for a minute, he casually asks if there's anything in Simon's trusty red bag that can paralyze the vocal cords. "Just for, say, a few months or so." Flashing a smile at River, who sticks out her tongue.

Kaylee is giggling and Wash is still looking kind of scandalized about the whole thing.

"Not like Simon," River adds brightly, sitting up straighter. "He--"

"Annnnd that's enough!" Simon stuffs a roll into her mouth and Mal wonders in passing what she could have been about to say.

The “wait, this could have been getting good” look on Mal’s face, meeting the big-brotherly “we’re going to have a discussion about _privacy_ very, very soon” look on Simon’s. He grins. "Not all of us have shiny pajamas."

Simon, eyes about half the size of his head, glares at him.

With a face as expressive as the captain's, the “what?” doesn't actually have to be spoken.

"I think we're done with dinner now," mumbling sedately and bundling up dishes, sister, and dignity.

And Mal already has plans to spend a good deal of the night on his left side, giving his right hand a workout, which he has no intention of rain-checking on even now. If little sister goes bearing _that_ news to her brother, it's no problem of his.

\--

Kneeling on Simon's bed, bouncing just enough to muss the blankets, over and over again.

"River...? What are you doing?"

A pause before she tilts her head, "Keeping rhythm." And goes right back to bounce, bounce, bouncing on the bed.

Simon groans. River, bouncing in rhythm for what seems like way too long. Then she’s stopping abruptly, smiling serenely before she throws her hands up and announces, "All done!" And goes crawling to lie flat on Simon's bed like _she'_s the exerted one.

Which is just...disconcerting. Because surely she can't...isn't...when someone else... _ tian xiao de_.

At this point, Simon wants to cram the pillow over his head. Can't even bring himself to ask if she's okay, since the dazed, dreamy smile on her face speaks plenty.

The next morning, he’s disgruntled and irritable, snapping at Mal when they pass in the infirmary, "Was it as good for you?" Getting a flicker of satisfaction when the captain double-takes. Stamina is only impressive at certain times and now is not one of them.

And Mal, clearly putting two and two together, of course can’t resist ruffling him up a little more. "So, you have dinner plans?" Walking off with a winning grin and a spring in his step as Simon seriously thinks of just taking a smoother and having someone else babysit.

"I hate. That man."

River, walking up out of nowhere, smiles impishly. "I don't."

He turns to say something, but she goes sitting seriously down in front of him, her face concerned. "You're breaking. Too much strain. Tension. You need to release.”

"I...uh... _what_?” He isn’t sure he approves of where this is going, although it certainly sounds true enough, as far as he can tell.

To which River makes the universal motion for masturbation, eyebrows high, head ducking a bit in a “yeah?” motion.

And, when Simon sputters like he does when he’s got half a dozen responses struggling to be said at once, she’s quick to reassure, "It's a perfectly natural process occurring when--"

"I know. I _know_." He'd been doing such a good job at not thinking irrational thoughts in that area, too, particularly given the new evidence that River can apparently infer when they’re going on.

Smugly, "You do _laundry_."

Another of those things he could have gone without anyone noticing, know-it-all siblings especially. "It's…therapeutic."

"Wasted efforts at procreation resulting in excessive compulsion for cleanliness. _Ben dan_."

"I am not _procreating_, now or possibly ever." Which gets him a "well, of _course_" face. He just hopes River doesn't go bouncing all over the place every time he comes in his sleep. A new topic of conversation would be ideal right now.

River just goes about giving a huge, martyr-worthy sigh and teasingly reaching over to tug at his belt, which just makes things particularly interesting when Mal wanders back through the infirmary door.

\--

_That_ wasn’t what he expected to see. "Whoa-ho-_ho_!"

"This is a very complicated procedure," goes the girl, like nothing out of the ordinary is going on.

"Gettin' the doc's wardrobe in order? I'll bet."

As Simon bats everyone off and firmly tucks his belt back into place. "It was... I-- it's not what you think."

"Care to enlighten me?"

River only making matters more convoluted by coyly proclaiming, "Yes, it was."

"Seems there's a disagreement on the point."

River sways a bit, on her knees now, bright-eyed and nearly giddy, "Simon shouldn't use so much laundry soap." The “p” on the end of “soap” pronounced with a popping sound.

"You have your own bed to worry about," Simon tells her pointedly, fussing with something on the countertop and muttering an _ai ya_ that just tickles Mal's amusement even more. He wouldn't ever admit as much, but there's something to be said for the way the girl can get under her brother's skin like none other.

River, apparently pleased at having an ally, nods at him with satisfaction. "Simon, see? He'll kiss it better." And Mal _knows_ he must be missing something here when the doc all but slams a cabinet closed on his own hand.

"Yeah, doc, I'll kiss it better." Mal's best “innocent boy” expression.

A glare. "Be. My. Guest."

Clasp-rub of the captain's hands, "Point me to where the kissin' needs to be doing."

River looks positively ecstatic. "Starting point isn't pertinent." Hopping back to her feet to attentively pet back a stray lock of Simon's hair. Whatever the doc's got her on these days, it's making her almost chipper.

Simon isn't amused. "That was intended to be completely and utterly facetious. Captain, is there an actual reason you're here?"

He considers this for just a second, "Yeah, actually-- is your sister peeking in on me and my right hand? Just out of curiosity."

Simon looks at him sternly. "If she hears things, I have no control over that."

River, without a word, scoots to perch on the edge of the exam table, feet swinging idly. Seems happy to let her brother do the talking on this one. Simon, seemingly, doesn't find that to be remotely fair.

"Huh. That so?" Squint one eye at River. "...You know where this is going, I suspect?"

"And what do you propose I do? Strap her down every time..." the doc seems a little leery of finishing that sentence, so he leaps right ahead, "until you've scraped together a modicum of decency? Perhaps we could implement some kind of alert system."

"Shouldn't be taking place around so many sharp objects," the girl shrugs, studying the contents of a drawer with an expression just a tad too pensive for Mal's taste.

"Not the watching I mind as much as it's the pilfering." Though he does take a bit of a half-step back.

"If you have any solutions in mind, you're more than welcome." The doc goes over towards his sister's side and gently taps the drawer closed.

Tapping her between the shoulder blades just as gently, and River slides off the table with a frown. "Laundry day," she says knowingly.

"Is _that_ why all my underwear's missin'?" He hadn't really thought of that, actually.

River's response to that is to go traipsing out of the room and leave them to it.

Simon making to follow her off, shaking his head. "I'll go about getting those back to you."

As far as Mal's concerned it's all just starting to get interesting. "So, she _is_ taking my underwear. Fancy that. Direct order, or is she just winging it?"

"Believe me, captain, I had no idea about this until now. River!"

"Irksome having to answer for her every little screw-up, ain't it?"

Simon glances into the hall as if expecting his sister to go poking her head around the corner. "Never a dull moment. I thought you liked that kind of thing." Pressing two fingers rather prissily to his temple and massaging for a few moments.

Mal would rather do the honors, if only to watch Simon’s face take on a fantastically confused expression, brushing aside supple fingers in favor of his callused ones, using his thumbs rather than forefingers to make tiny circular motions along Simon's temples. Gripping him this way leaves him oddly cradling the back of that soft crown of dark hair with both hands. And of course, Simon’s looking at him like he’s gone crazy, which makes it all worthwhile, but allowing it, only hesitating for a moment before letting his head slowly drop into the contact.

"I'll...speak with her about personal space again." He sounds a little less tetchy now, more subdued. Suits him better. "It can be slow going."

And, if for a second, iron curtains fall away and Mal's voice is a sight more understanding than usual. Which could be kind of concerning. "Can't reconcile that kind of meddling overnight." _Meddling_. What a perfectly mundane way to state the process of cracking open the skull of a teenage girl and digging around haphazardly. Mal's hand drops down a bit, his fingertips skimming and pushing at Simon's cheek, like a slap in slow motion that turns into more of a tender push than a strike before the contact breaks altogether and the captain's backing off. Making over to tinker with tools he couldn't name if he wanted to.

"She has her days. She also has her ideas. Not all of which," tilting enough for those pale eyes to light on Mal's face, "are entirely rational."

"Some more than others." Concisely. Casually. A packet of a vivid, greenish liquid in his hands, pushing his thumbs into it and watching it go squishsquishsquish.

Drop the packet back in the drawer, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels for a second. "Yup. Just... as soon as can be managed. Going commando in these here pants isn't much of a great idea."

And leaving Simon with that thought. Making that look pop onto his face is just far too easy.

\--

“You wanted them,” says River, unapologetically. “Here they are.” It makes sense, as so many of her actions do, in a roundabout way. Simon’s cultivating some interest in the state of the captain's pants, she'll just hand them right over. Which is still rather disturbing.

"River, those aren't mine."

“Might as well be.”

Sighing, he leans against the wall and launches into a speech as to just why she needs to give them back. Temples tingling from the touch from before.

He could really go without River eyeing him like he's the slowest student in a Reproductive Biology course and going, "It’s completely natural." But she listens, sullenly trailing off with the laundry basket dragging behind her.

It's worst when these little nuggets of advice get delivered right as he's about to go to sleep. Right when he's assured himself everything's in order and he'll get a good night of rest in him for once. When he orders her not to bounce on _either_ of their beds in rhythm to... _anything_... she instead thrums her fingers against the wall. Tap-tap-tap, steadily along. Thumpthumpthump, _fuck_.

Simon's hand reaches down his own side-- t-shirt and comfortable pants to sleep in, soft gray and worn to melted-butter comfort-- fingers stretching wide, flexing, before he curls his hand into a fist and shoves it against his thigh with the intention of _keeping_ it there. Metronome. Metronome with a heartbeat: River. Thumpthumpthump. Taptaptap. Gorrammit, stopstop_stop_.

Imagining how it might go over if he followed things to one conclusion in particular: finally striding purposefully to Mal's room, wasting no time once the door opens. "I suppose it's best if we get some things out of the way." And just shouldering his way inside and dropping to his knees, no preamble but that.

"Red knees," River is whispering in the dark and Simon clenches his eyes shut. Grits his teeth.

The tapping _does_ stop, then, only it's replaced by bare feet padding up to his bedside. "Excessive amounts of endogenous opioid polypeptide compounds flooding the system are conducive to sedation." Singsong.

Having his sister tease him about a crush is one thing, but he's not _sixteen_ anymore and having her heckle him about _orgasms_ is quite, _quite_ another. He cuts right to the point, lifting his head off the pillow though he can't quite see much of anything despite her silhouette being darker than the shadows behind her. "I'm not going down there. And I'm not... and you _know_ that. River, please just go to bed."

Slight shoulders shrugging in the night. "Any doctor would know better."

"I _do_ know better."

"Red knees, red knees in the dark-- shhh, no one needs to know."

"River."

"_No one sees_." Both fluttering hands finding a place to rest on the edge of the mattress, her weight dipping the bed just a bit as she's supporting herself with her arms. "Wide and open, sitting there." Her head ducks, very seriously stated, "He won't say _no_."

Now he has an image stuck there-- Mal's brown hair falling over his brow, furrowed as it is, chin toward his chest, arm straining with well-used muscle, bare, just from the waist down and Simon doesn't know why his mind wants it that way. But touching himself, lean and hard, cock flushed and bared in contrast to an indrawn stomach. Mal's usually smug mouth lax and teasing with little displays of shadowy tongue and teeth. Legs braced wide, taut-tanned and strong as that hand works its way over himself; clenched and rough around dark-flushed, _slick_ flesh. His own hand taking over, fingers slipping around the heated width of him, guiding it, and _swallowing_. Oh, dear _God_.

River looks unabashedly smug when he sweeps that image aside and trains his gaze back on her. Reach out, get a feathery strand of hair between two fingers, tug lightly to see her grimace. "That isn't really your business, is it?" None of his either, for that matter, but one crisis at a time.

"No, it's yours,” River disagrees. “All yours." Like it's a lullaby; combing that recently tugged hair with her fingers, like a wistful princess in front of a mirror. One hundred strokes of the brush.

"Exactly. And I'll take it up with the captain when or if _I_ choose to. Back to bed now?" Even when she complies, it's clear he's not nearly as tired as he was before. Thoughts of tea are as good as any. No one should be in the galley to question why he's still awake now, at least.

And, of course, he finds himself bumping into the captain, because his luck is having a fine time taking the night off. His only response to that casual, raised-eyebrows, "Hey" is to let out a defeated little laugh. And consider what Mal might do if Simon _did_ just put down the teapot and kneel, then and there.

Mal swaggering up to peer over Simon's shoulder into the teapot curiously. "Is it tea yet?" He sounds suspiciously lighthearted.

Has the captain _always_ been this thoughtless about personal space, or is he just finding this whole thing amusing? Simon grits his teeth. "Not quite hot enough, no."

He can almost hear River pattering up to giggle and comment on that. Which, mercifully, doesn't happen.

"Turn up the heat, then." Larger hand slipping around Simon to tinker with the knob.

"It takes time." Trying not to go rigid when the inside of Mal's arm brushes his shoulder. "Haven't you ever had to make tea?"

"Kaylee usually does it up." Mal, sounding almost thoughtful. "I mean, honest, I can make tea, but..."

“…right.” Simon remembers; the last time he attempted, the captain spent a good while shivering on the floor after Zoe took the fire extinguisher to him good and proper. "I think I understand." Don't look at the captain, don't think of his _sister_ and her recent compulsion for these orchestrations. Just set down a couple cups, keep his eyes on the teapot. _Nice night, isn't it? Have some tea, maybe some sex? _ Oh, _go se_, he's never going to live this down. "As a matter of fact, I don't think I want any after all." Let Mal have all the tea he wants, Simon's going back to his bunk and _staying_ there. Possibly forever. With any luck, River's finally asleep and he can take care of himself before getting some of his own without any unwelcome input.

Mal’s mouth tugs into the scarcest sort of frown, still peering at the kettle. "Gonna finish makin' this?"

"Oh, no. You can go right ahead. Good night." Set the cup back down and get ready to beat a quick retreat

"_Ho_!" Grasping Simon's arm; retain him for a few minutes longer. "This is your tea, ain't it? Waste not, want not, doc."

It _shows_, has to. His sleep pants aren't much of a shield, but Mal's got no reason to be looking at him below the neck. Simon hopes. Especially with the grimace passing over his face as that hand _closes_ over him, just above the elbow. "I didn't know you cared. It's fine, take it; I changed my mind."

Head tilting, eyes darting, Mal is wearing a partial scowl. Slowly, one finger at a time, releasing Simon's arm. "Now what furry thing has crawled up _your_ pants' leg?"

Pants. The captain is _touching_ him and talking about _pants_. "I think I hear River." That should be a convincing enough argument, though it seems River is actually well and truly asleep. No good captain wants any mentally precarious passengers wandering around unattended. Mal's going to be mighty surprised indeed if Simon practically has an orgasm just from a mention of fuzzy pants-crawling creatures. He wants to laugh hysterically.

"Ah. Mm. Yeah, she's an awful loud sleeper. Ought to look into that."

"Tea's ready." Kettle starting to send off warning whistles, Simon's brain already screaming with them.

"Ain't all that is." Plain with a hit of rising eyebrows.

"How nice. I'm going to _bed_ now, if you don't mind." Trying to wrench out of that too-insistent grasp on his arm.

Release. Abruptly, even. Mal. Smirking. Watching him stumble. "Watch you don't take an eye out, now."

He's _hard_, he's _breathing_ hard, he feels _ridiculous_. Glare over his shoulder at the stupid screeching kettle and Mal's stupid screeching face. Carefully keeping his back turned.

Hands open, his face just the same, painted with a Cheshire kind of smile. "I thought only the younger Tam played hide’n seek."

"Enjoy conducting _that_ investigation," stopping in mid-step, mumbling, more to himself than Mal. _Red knees, red knees_.

Mal's back going straight, turning a bit, reaching out to pick up the kettle and, carefully, rationing water to each cup. "Never much was one for tea. How about you? Must have, right? Seems to me with a rich family comes richer things-- teatimes and such."

Plod forward, flee the scene; not as if he can _face_ the captain without kissing his shame goodbye. Instead, he's standing there with his body turned the opposite direction and his legs actually feeling _weak_\--from anger, he tells himself, or from the reversal of blood flow to more humiliating parts of his body. "It was common, yes." Whywhy_why_ is he answering at all? Mal only makes amiable small talk when he's toying with someone.

"Seen better wares, I suspect. Gold... whassit? Inlaid. And such." Open the little square container of actual tea, shaking it, peering inside and frowning just a touch.

And since Mal's busy with his tea and chatter, Simon forgoes all etiquette and practically _runs_ back to his bunk. Barely even sure he gets the door closed--head thrown back, one hand over his mouth and the other around his cock; hardfirm_fast_ strokes of that hand, not going to take but a minute...

Mal. Silently laughing over two cups of steaming water, shoulders shaking. Simon can’t see, but he can _tell_.

Jerkjerkjerk. His own hand _and_ Mal. Punching the pillow when he comes, wishing he could do it without worrying about _someone_ picking up on it. Red knees...see how sure-and-swaggering the good captain might've been _then_. If he _had_ just...no. He’s not going to think about it.

Next door, River giggles. And Simon hates. the universe.

\--

He makes certain to look Mal dead in the eye every time he sees him, _just to prove he can_.

Which Mal naturally finds hilarious. And just to be irritating, stops now and again to ask Simon if he'd care for tea.

Finally, just to give the captain something other than the satisfaction of a cool "no thank you," Simon pivots and stares him down. "I actually wouldn't mind." He'd had half a mind to say something suave and subtle about craving more than tea, but he's certain any possibilities that sound half-decent in his head are bound to disintegrate before they get out of his mouth.

Mal is still walking at the time, actually has to turn on a heel-- an arm going out to balance himself so he can do an about-face. Blinking for a moment before his mouth falls into a lax little, "Huh?"

"Yes. Tea would be lovely." He has to work to keep his face straight, since Mal so clearly wasn't expecting that for an answer. It's made him a little more impetuous. "Here, or was there somewhere else you had in mind?"

"Uh..." A long pause. Straightening, both hands going to the front of his belt, grasping it-- it has a very irritating way of drawing the eyes crotch-ways. "I..." Reaching up to rub his temple with his index finger. "Where... do… _you_ have tea?"

It's better than he could have hoped. Mal looks ridiculous. "I believe it's all in the kitchen." _Where else would it be_? hovers mutely afterward. "Although if you plan on bringing it to me on a tray instead, I'm not going to object." Let the mirth shine through in his eyes as he walks blithely by.

"No." Clear his throat, "_No_, I... no trays. I just-- nothing. Right. Kitchen." Pointing, then pausing, dropping his arm and strolling past Simon. It's obvious, just from his face and movements, that the captain has no idea why he's even accepting _tea_.

And when everyone else is sensibly squared away in their quarters, that's where Simon finds him: in the kitchen, staring fixedly at the teapot on the stove and looking awfully contemplative about it.

His head comes up, as well as his eyebrows, and Mal looks absolutely _proud_ of himself, "There's... water in it. I put. Water in it. Ahem." Step back, eyeing it. "Already." Nodding once.

Simon's sure his own eyebrows have to be merging with his scalp by now. "Oh. O...kay, that's a start." Not the most inspiring setting he's ever had for a first date, but calling this _that_ makes the corner of his mouth twitch. That and the way Mal seems to be trying to boil water by force of will alone. "Is...the stove...on?"

"Oh. _Oh_!" Mal grinning like a kid that just realized he had the toy piece in backwards, how silly; eyes crinkling and all before he reaches down and twists the knob, pointing at it and clucking his tongue at it. "Crisis averted."

"For the time being." He makes himself useful, since it doesn't seem like Mal needs any more pressure in that department, and rifles through the tea selection. "I trust all your belongings have made it back safely?"

He tilts his head from side to side, nodding once. "Yeah. In and out-- thief-in-the-night-like. Y'know, your sister might be more cut out for this sort of business than you realize. Might put her to work. Y'know. _Covert_. And things." Hands on the counter, watching Simon rummaging, like how children learn from parents by experience and watching rather than lecture.

"River isn't ready for any of your _covert_ operations." Firmly, settling on jasmine and placing two bags on the counter.

"Natural as breathin', right?" Head tilted toward Simon now, studying his profile.

"You have no idea."

"Of course, you're right-- wait until she doesn't…" Bring a hand up to the side of his head, fingertips pulled together before he draws his hand away from his temple and spreads them wide. "Quite so much."

He steps a little closer, a bit of amusement no doubt playing over his face, letting his glance flit between Mal and the teapot. "Captain. Did you really plan to discuss my sister over tea?"

Blink. Straightening some. "...No?"

Ah. _There_. "Then can we please get past that and anything else you didn't plan to discuss?" Softly, not-quite teasing. Careful with the upper hand now that he's got it.

Hook his thumbs in his belt, pursing his lips briefly. "...Past it. Then." With all that proper talk. Sometimes, when Simon gets to articulating and such, Mal feels like he should be holding his hands up, as if on the no-no end of a gun. When did this get to be a joke about an inopportune erection to them actually having _tea_? Actual... _tea_.

Thumbs to belt loops, and Simon can't help it, his gaze follows right along with them. Mal needs to stop assuming his patented stance of male aggression whenever he's not sure what to say. "Although. River does give good advice, on occasion."

Mal's face gets all twisted; reaching up to itch at the back of his head. Shift his weight from one foot to the other. "If you can make sense of it. S'pose. Never given me none. Mostly name-calling and the like. Sticking out that tongue."

"I've had more practice than most." _She thinks I should suck your cock right here in the kitchen and I can't say I disagree_. Just _imagining_ saying the truth out loud makes him frown and quickly turn his full attention back to the tea.

Are they really talking about Simon's sister again? He's getting lost in all this. "Is there somethin' I... ought to be applying myself to? With the... tea and all." What was it now? First in the little round holey thing... then... right.

"Just whatever you like to put in it." _Go se_. Awkward as any first date. "You know. Sweetener, dairy supplement..."

"I mean... there... some kinda ceremony-somethin' to this? Or... do all you rich folk just sit around wee tables and have someone _else_ bring it to you?" When Mal teases, he can sometimes border on cruel. Doesn't mean, at the heart of him, he is. Just his way, that's all.

Clearly, he's not the only one flustered. There has to be a _reason_ the captain’s forgetting things like how to use a stove and follow a conversation. "_Wo de ma_, you've had _tea_ before. I've _seen_ you. If you want a proper ceremony, I'm sure Inara knows it." The water is boiling and Simon smoothly fills two teacups with it, easing a bag into each one afterward.

A slight smile: called out. "Right, but if you've _seen_ me have tea, then you know, I'd rather like to just be swallowing it down and going back to my..." a vague gesture. "captain-y things. Askin', should I sit for this, or…?"

Swallowing. Right. Ohnot_again_. Simon, without preamble, quickly takes a seat and scoots it as close to the table as he can. "If you like." Drop his gaze to his cup as casually as he can and take a sip to keep from saying anything he regrets.

Okay. Wait one damn minute-- inopportune erections? Oh. _Ooooh_. Is that why-- River was... oh. _Oh_. Well, hell; why'd nobody say anything? Disregard his cup altogether, moving over to loom over Simon's shoulder, reaching down to press his fingertips around the rim of the cup, holding it down to the tabletop. "Rather, would _you_ like?"

Sitting, right. For all the good it does. _Swallowing_. Him with that word still in his head and his legs crammed together like he's still a terrified adolescent and Mal _looming_ over him that way he does. Could be Mal with that head bowed between Simon's thighs as opposed to over his shoulder, teacups rattling on the table and his fingers bled white from _clutching_ the edge of it as that wide, mocking mouth licks and teases and sucks him _down_. "I...amthankyou."

"_Not_... what I--" A ragged little chuckle. "Gimme a 'go' or 'stop' here doc, I ain't got no time for games, especially ones I didn't even realize when I was _playin_'." Move his hand from the cup to Simon's unmoving wrist.

"Your perception skills leave--uh." _Much to be desired_, that was how he'd meant to end that. Hadn't counted on having that hand move where it did.

"Wasn't born yesterday, just didn't realize you were raising the flag on account of little ole _me_." Is it funny or is it-- no. Sexy. Definitely sexy over funny. Though, maybe more than a bit funny, too. Don't just sweep in, pull back, releasing Simon's hand in order to splay his own on the table, ducking his head near the soft, dark hair fanned nape of the doctor's neck and _breathing_.

Fists, thighs, jaw--Simon tightens up _everywhere_. Hands flat to the tabletop, mouth hanging open to let out another sentence that doesn't come. Mal. The captain, leaning in behind him with his breath soft on Simon's nape and he can't _think_. "...oh. Well. Now."

"Now, yeah." Quiet-like. "That. Now, _that_... is a 'go', doc." Spoken there. His lips moving against skin, feeling those soft, downy hairs tickling the top one.

"Not here." He's pleased with how calm he sounds, more pleased with the way Mal's voice vibrates against his neck. Dampness and words and slowslow_heat_. Simon's chair scraping against the floor as he shimmies up out of the seat from the side, so as not to back into Mal: hand around the back of _his_ neck, give as good as he's gotten, and _tug_ in his urgency, getclosergetclosergetcloser.

It's a reflex, just a reflex-- hand on him, that firm and that demanding, nerves tick off “danger” first. First and foremost. His hands on Simon, both of them hitting the side-wall of the kitchen, a few inches from the steps. Breath caught up and arrested in his chest for a second before the rest of him comes around; clenching the front of that fancy vest before he takes the invitation offered. Kissing. Kissing the good doctor he picked up out of the nowhere of travels and kept under his wing as his own. Fancy _that_.

He's a mess. An utter gasping, stumbling, overheated _mess_. Jasmine tea on a tongue that isn't his, big hands stuttering and clutching at his shirt, and he's not sure _where_ to put his own hands--scrambling to open buttons, to brace himself against the wall so he doesn't _fall_ on the captain, to keep said captain from getting spooked and _bolting_. "Your room." Just in case River’s wandered into his again, or has herself pressed up against the wall they share, taptaptapping away. Kisslick_breathe_. "Need to...yeah... _now_."

"Right." Okay. "Right." Blink-blinking, licking his lips; a button probably half off its threads under Simon's nails. Grasp both wrists and jerk forward, get the other off the wall so he can move proper. Down the stairs, down the corridor-- Mal kicking the hatch in and physically moving Simon forward to take the ladder down so he can follow. Forget the last two rungs, hitting the floor with a thump in his boots. Shove his “door” shut. And bang-_slam_, on him. Not even on the bed, straight up against the wall-- hard and _aching_. Kaylee snickering in his head. _Captain Tight-Pants_.

"_Yes_." Simon’s not sure _what_ it means that his entire middle seems to give a giddy lurch as he's physically _pulled_ in the appropriate direction and bundled right back up against a wall as soon as they reach it. _Grip_ Mal's head in both hands and _push_ his tongue into that mouth with no seconds thoughts whatsoever, slicking against teeth and heat and _everything_. Fumbling open the front of his vest, starting on the shirt underneath, getitoffoff_off_; his body feels as if his blood's suddenly gone scalding hot. Mal must be thinking that if a little tea is enough to elicit _this_ kind of response, anything is possible.

Bare chest; Mal’s teeth on it. Collarbone, bearing marks when he's done. Upup_up_ the side of that alabaster throat. Nails along the side of a navel. Mal's hips up against Simon's own, the height difference making all that friction just that much better. Even through the layers of cloth he can _feel_ the doctor there; heated and hard, the protrusion rub-bumping up along the underside of his, making him go all blind and bite-y for a few second there until Mal can catch something that remotely resembles a breath. _Didn't realize you had it in you, doc... _

For his part, Simon tries not to _yelp_ at the unexpected zing of fingernails over the vulnerable skin of his stomach--clutch hard over those broad shoulders instead, bunching shirt fabric in both hands. Mal is up against him in a solidfirm pillar of _heat_ and he can't begin to get enough of that. Throat bared, bite marks on it; he shivers. Raw and heedless and _grinding_ his lower body against the captain's as best he can while working open the fastenings on those pants--recall that image from a few days ago: Mal, shirt still on, cock in hand--and _pulling_.

_Shove_. Fucking _shove_ against the other, head up, hands slamming flat_hard_ to the wall on either side of that pretty, dark head, mussed as it is. Unkempt. Unlike the good doctor. But, then, so is the other _yanking_ his pants undone. No belt, no holsters to deal with; snap-crack of suspenders, minor and brief pain at his back where that takes a bite at him. Cursing a blue streak before pulling back, enough to get his pants undone-- no underwear, newly returned to him after all, no chance to use them just yet-- yanked up under his ass. The boots will be too much fuss-- just undo that button and yank down the grit of that zipper; no preamble, just grip him in a firmly squeezing hand. Stroke him, once, good and fast and _hard_ before clenching at the base and leaving it at that. For now. Haven't gotten a good, proper kiss-- pry apart pretty, white teeth in one fluid movement, half _growling_.

_God_yes. Mal's hands are rough and sure and strong and _ai ya_, _stroking_ him; kissing him, _while_ he's stroking him, and Simon thinks he makes some kind of garbled sound that might be embarrassing if he cared that much. That contact is gone too fast, leaves his cock aching to be _touched_, and Mal's still all but _biting_ into his mouth--_that_ Simon can cope with, and does. Nips back, good and hard, sucks a luridly visible mark against the side of Mal's neck and draws back. Still breathing a little too fast. Lips curving, palms trailing. Bare and bending and taking Captain Malcolm Reynolds's erection into his mouth.

A hickey-- the doctor leaves a _hickey_ on his neck that will be well and far above his damn collar. Doesn't matter much. If at all. He can say whatever-- he's the _captain_, gorrammit. Suddenly, _none_ of it matters because Simon is.... Simon _is_.... The reverberating _slam_ of open hands to the wall, the small of his back _jerking_ inward, head going down in a curve, sweat at the temples, portions of his body throbbing from the clutch of pale hands or the bite of whitewhite teeth. Mal's mouth hanging lax, no sound coming from his constricted throat-- his toes are curling in his boots, legs trying to part wider in a spasm. One hand up only to slam again against the wall of his quarters, _ground_ through teeth when he can make his jaw work, "_Ta ma de, **yes**_." That last word dying in a hiss as he loses muscle control in his face area again. And Mal-- _Captain_\-- gives a huffing moan_whimper_.

Simon gets down to business; always does. Making a nice, neat circle of his mouth and _sucking_ to the sound of groans and curses on the air, trying not to let himself lose focus. Small, exploratory laps along the tip, then, thick and dark and the tang of salt-sweat-bitterness on his tongue. Take a little time to apply that to his own hand, get it wet and gleaming before closing it around the base and starting to set a rhythm--forehead dropping against Mal's hip as he suddenly remembers River and lets out a disbelieving little laugh. Tamp it down quickly, though, as there's no sense in ruining the moment now that it's here, even though he hasn't been in a comparable situation since he was still in school. Doesn't matter: the crease dividing Mal's thigh and body is sweat-dampened and hot under his tongue, an attention the captain seems to appreciate.

His _knees_ go weak; Mal leaning in hard with his hand, _gasping_ in the hot little pocket of warmth they've made between them. "_Simon_," that articulate, _clever_ pink mouth, _lapping_ at him that way. Hips jerk-_surging_ and a hand wildly coming off the wall to _clench_ up all that pretty hair. Head going back, mouth wide and _wanting_, silent before a long, deep-chested _groan_ unfurls, gasped at the silent ceiling. Simon gives a huff of laughter and Mal, in all his indignation, can only _whine_ about it because Simon's mouth actually has to be _off_ him to make sound. Well, not _has_ to be, because else he'd be feeling the vibration of it right. _there_. Knead-clench, down to the back of Simon's neck. On his knees. On his _knees, cào_. And _licking_ up between-- ohoh_oh_. That hand from Simon's nape to fight, struggle his pants down lower, bundled and bunched, so he can _spread_ his legs further. Sway some, need that hand to support himself, too... "S-Simon, I... c-can't; _tian xiao **de**_\--"

A hand scrabbling at his hair and that's wildly, unexpectedly _good_ for some reason, firm-without-hurting _clutches_ that have Simon rubbing the heel of his hand down between his own spread legs and letting out a muffled groan. Still intent on sucking Mal off, feeling the strange-stretched sensation of his mouth working to _take_, lips bumping and smearing over his own fingers now and again and his tongue lapping out to make an even bigger, slicker mess of _everything_\--there's no rhyme or reason to it other than getting Mal to _come_. Or even just make more of those _sounds_. "Y...y'can," he's babbling mindlessly in response, hips jerk-snapping into his own hand still.

"W-with me-- co--" Don't try to sort out the words, just _clutch_ him, _bring_ him. Biceps tightened and strained, jerk-stumbling back, only a step or two because they were at the wall _right there_. Heavy. He falls _heavy_ to his mattress and that damn well _hurts_, vibrating down his thighs. Speaking of, ruck down his pants, they fold over the length of his boots. He can use both hands now; into Simon's hair. Curling them around the damp locks, _squeezing_ them in his grip. Hitch over, panting hard, teeth gritting, whinemurmuring nonsense-- petpet_pet_ Simon urgently. Just _there_. Sofuckingright--_God_. "Yeah_yes_\--"

The captain goes falling onto his bed and Simon shifts on his knees to reorient himself, buries his face right back where it was and feels it burning at his own enthusiasm. Can't matter overmuch, though, not while he's getting touched and encouraged; Mal and his hardboiled authoritative demeanor all reduced to _this_, for _him_.

Eyes slitting open, glimmering, dazed, but finding Simon's face. That smooth, rich-boy face with his cheeks drawn in and his pink mouth turned red because it's stretched over his _cock_ and that's about it; Simon's tongue flick-_licking_ up the underside of the head and right across the leaking slit and he's coming. _Coming_ in strong, whitehot pulses into that mouth; couldn't mutter a word of warning. Had none of his own. His entire body twisting with tension, tense-releasing. Spasms, jaw tightened, hips doing those final, quickfirm little pushes to keep that sweetblissful sensation running through him. _Coming_ in Simon Tam's _mouth_\-- sweet-merciful mother of...

A strange taste in his mouth, a lock of hair tickling his nose, a moan in the back of his throat. A thousand times removed from trying to form a mental picture of what Mal might do in bed. Can't even _begin_ to compare. "_Nnnnh_." Incoherent. His head resting on the inside of Mal's knee, kissing there unthinkingly again and again, breathing in great gulps through his mouth, and still steadily working a hand over himself.

Shudder hard and thorough, head tilted back to the ceiling, to the metal roofing, to the corridor above, to the wide, gaping spaces beyond Serenity's walls. Blinking slowly, Mal’s muscles going watery for a few seconds, shoulders slumping. Head down, Simon's dark-damp hair, down there on his bare thigh-- the press of his wet lips over and over on that sensitive patch of skin. Slide his hand up under Simon's jaw, tipping his head up; bring his other hand in on the job; kiss him. Mal's tongue slicking into that bitter-salty tasting mouth, _licking_ those last traces of himself out before drawing back to breathe. And speak. Stronger, confident, not so much breathless as it were, "Up." He can physically _make _it so if he has to. Grab him up, move him onto the bed next to him, sitting. Mal's head tipped in, getting a good mouthful of that throat, his hand elsewhere, muscles straining against the skin as he's taken hold of Simon's erection, stroke-jerking as he snarl-bites into Simon's neck. Breathing thick and heavy, but he's a lot more aware of himself now. Now that he hasn’t got that fucking _heaven-sent_ mouth _sucking_ the very sense out of him. Free hand back up to Simon's hair, head. Grasping. Leading that brow to his own, eyes half open and leveled on Simon's own gaze-- fluttering open like that. "You look at me now. _Look_."

Stumbling obligingly to settle on top of the bed himself, Mal's touches seeming to leave hot handprints in their wake that make him feel drained and eager at the same time. Shutting his eyes, automatically leaning forward to take that mouth, blinking once in confusion when Mal pulls back with that ah-ah-ah lilt to his brow and tells him to _look_. Look. As he's gasping and _thrusting_ into that relentlessly stroking hand. His face goes crimson, he's sure of that, and each time he goes to angle his head for a kiss, Mal taps him right back to where he was before; fist still rubbingtwisting_killing_ him. "I'd like..letmekissyou," blurting it out finally.

Keep that eye contact, rub-swirl his thumb over the head of Simon's hothard cock and twist his grip nice and easy on the next downstroke. It's almost, unwittingly to him, just as it was in Simon's mind. Only, now, instead of that slack-jawed expression and Mal jerking _himself_, it's an intense sort of stare-down with Mal's hand ohmostdefinitely wrapped tight around the good doctor's erection. Grip the back of that neck firmly, head tilting to serve what's ordered-- the presspush of his tongue along Simon's, opened mouths smearing together. His hand never letting up. Draw back, head the other way-- go back in. Deep and long and thorough before making that eye contact. Steady. Don't look away. Finds himself saying it, "Don't look away. ...Don't dare." Whisper-soft.

He moans. Before Mal even _starts _kissing him. Sound rolling up out of his gut, hand skipping up to cup the back of Mal's head--short spikes of hair bristling against his palm. "Wasn't--_oh_\--planning o-on it." Squirming from both the darkheated whisper and the tremor starting to whirl through him; starting to _come_, dear_God_, and Mal just _watching_ him do it, like Simon's the headliner of some film he's been dying to get his hands on.

He spins out. Unravels. Right there for Mal to see. The light in his eyes changes, reflected in a different way, widening as that first wave of it hits him. Hotscalding, thick and pearlescent; the whole of him. Just spilling right over into Mal's hands. Easy as that. That one hand rubbing his thumb up behind the earlobe and down to the jaw, to feel it tighten and release. "Good." That's some magical gorram tea is all he can figure.

Taking that thumb into his mouth without really registering the fact that he's doing it, nip-release, then he's going slack against both Mal and the bed. Feeling sapped of strength and peculiarly...triumphant. Maybe now River will find some other challenge to occupy her time. He hopes.

"Whoa--shh--" A slumping, exhausted, _satisfied_ Doctor Tam. Arm around him; both of them to the bed. Press back the hair from the other's brow, an eyebrow of his own quirking. "Yeah...?" Smiling as he says it.

Simon cracks open his eyes, another ridiculous bubble of laughter threatening to spill over. All this time spent bickering with River and he could've just... "I'm going to fall asleep sometime within the next two minutes. If you have a location you'd prefer, say it now." It actually sounds coherent, if a little slurred, but Simon knows now isn't the time to be picky. He should probably clean his teeth somewhere in there, too, but Mal's kissing him anyway and Mal doesn't seem to mind and he figures he can deal with that, for now.

Pat the other's hip lightly, breathing in. "Move up... get up there." Work him up on the bed with slow proddings. Take care of the pants and footwear-- strip him. Toss them aside; he's not much for tidiness as Simon is. But, he won't be lashed for that at the moment. Simon's going south and going fast. Long enough to get him up under a sheet, settle his head on a pillow proper-like.

Choosing his words carefully, Simon forces himself to focus. “That was…probably ridiculously stupid, wasn’t it?”

"What? Invitin' me to tea instead of bed? Yeah. For a minute there I was starting to think I should just give you and the tea some private time..." Doesn't make much sense. Maybe that's not how the rich and uppity do it. For all he knows, tea is the equivalent of being asked to bed where Simon comes from.

"_Shénme_? You invited _me_." Turning onto his stomach, taking up the majority of the bed and honestly not caring at all.

"Because it was _funny_." Or, at least, it had been to Mal.

"And after seeing your proficiency at making tea,” Simon mutters, “it seemed there was room for nothing but improvement."

Boots. One at a time: thump-thump. "Maybe you can show me a little more in the wise arts of tea. When you're bright-eyed and all." Steal a pillow, at the very least.

"Maybe." Naked in the captain's bed, sweat cooling on his skin, and feeling nothing but content. It's been a long time. Stretch his arms over his head and lazily make room as Mal moves in. A firm look at Mal's face--hair more mussed, lips more red than usual--before his eyes start sliding shut again. "This is _not_ my fault." Just to...make sure that's covered. It seems important.

Mal doesn't give much room for cuddling, he just shoves on in there, puts his back to the other and squeezes his pillow to his chest. He does give something of a sound of agreement after lights out, though. "We'll just... blame it on Jayne."

\--

_tian xiao de_ —name of all that's sacred  
_ben dan_—stupid  
_ta ma de_—motherfucker  
_ai ya_—damn  
_go se_—shit  
_wo de ma_—mother of God  
_cào_—fuck  
_shénme?_—what?


End file.
